“Dat’s de way he went, boss,” said he, “an’, by golly, he went jess a-hummin’.”
“This way, men!” shouted Levitt, leaping off in the direction indicated by the negro.
The six pursuers disappeared at a run, and left Matt gasping with astonishment. Why had the old darky put them on the wrong track? It was preposterous to think that the negro had himself been deceived.
While Matt was turning the matter over in his mind, and puzzling his brain with it, the negro began to whistle softly and to limp in the direction of the pavilion. On reaching the broken panel of latticework, he leaned against the railing of the pavilion.
“How yo’ lak dat, Marse Matt?” he chuckled. “Didn’t Ah done send um on de wrong track, huh? En yo’ all thought Ah wasn’t lookin’ at yo’, en dat Ah didn’t know who yo’ was! Har, har, har!”
The darky laughed softly as he finished talking.
Matt’s wonderment continued to grow.
“Great spark plugs!” he muttered, recognizing an old acquaintance. “Is it—can it be—Uncle Tom?”
“Dat’s who Ah is, marse! Hit’s been a right sma’t of er while since Ah had de pleasuah ob seein’ yo’. De las’ time we was togedder was in Denvah. ’Membah all dem excitin’ times we had in Arizony, dat time dat Topsy gal en me was wif dat Uncle Tom’s Cabin comp’ny? Golly, I ain’t nevah gwineter fo’git dat! Who’s been doin’ yo’ mascottin’ lately, huh? ’Pears lak no one had, f’om de ha’d luck yo’ is in.”
Matt recalled Uncle Tom very vividly. The aged negro had belonged to a stranded company of players, and Matt had helped them out of their difficulties. But that had happened in the Southwest, and here was Uncle Tom about as far East as he could get. The world is not so large, after all, and many strange and unexpected meetings occur.